Something About Today
by M. D. Jensen
Summary: One November 27, Mulder doesn't shouw up for work. Innocently forgetting the date's signifigance, Scully goes to make sure that he's okay... Scully POV and major Mulder angst. slight MSR


Disclaimer: I don't own these peeps, okay peeps?

Please forgive me that I don't know what episode this date is contained within. Just pretend that it's in-between cases, mmmmkay?

One November 27, Mulder is late for work. Innocently forgetting the date's significance, Scully goes to make sure everything's okay… Scully POV, Mulder angst and NO PLOT!

Something About Today…

I should've known something was wrong. Mulder's been late plenty of times before, but never without calling in to explain, and (rarely) he even called to apologize. Then there was one time when he was sick without notice, but that was preceded by a day of constant coughing and falling asleep at his desk, so no mystery there. But today… today was different. For no special reason, he just didn't come.

It was windy outside, but cold and clean. I sat there, longing for a window in the dingy, lonely office. I thought of organizing my little section; I thought of organizing Mulder's section, but the mere idea made me tired. I looked around the walls of the office. They never ceased to amaze me, the amount of stuff that Mulder managed to pin on them. A few months ago, one of the junior agents, nameless to me, had taken up photography. Even since them, a growing collage of pictures of Mulder and I occupied a space right beside Mulder's doodle of an alien spaceship. And right next to that was the calendar, the disgusting one of mostly-naked women that Mulder insisted on displaying.

The calendar.

Shit.

November 27, 1993.

"Mulder…" I whispered, partially in realization, partially in pity.

Nothing was happening at the office. I wasn't needed; Skinner would never know. I grabbed my coat and keys, and rushed out the door, into the blustery, seemingly innocent day.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I bent down, extracting the spare key from under the welcome mat of apartment 42. Mulder had told me about it when I'd been assigned to feed his fish one afternoon that he'd be away. It was meant to be used for only either pets or emergencies, but I was pretty sure that Mulder would make an exception.

I opened the door and walked a few steps in. I couldn't see; the curtains were drawn and the lights were off. I flipped them on, closed the door behind me and stepped fully inside.

"Mulder?" I called. I heard a rustle, then Mulder's head appeared on the other side of his leather couch, his eyes unfocused from the lighting switch. I couldn't tell if he'd been asleep, or if he'd been crying, but he disappeared behind the couch when he saw me, scrubbing at his cheeks, so I guess that at least the latter was true.

"Hey, Scully," he said quietly. It broke my heart; I'd never heard him so discouraged-sounding.

"Hi," I said softly. My voice was airy; I was trying to sound maternal but all it ended up sounding was congested. I cleared my throat. "I hope you don't mind me using the key."

I rounded the couch in time to see him shake his head. He scrambled into one cushion corner, giving me room to sit down. I did, looking anywhere but at his face. I waited for him to speak. Finally, realizing that I was waiting, he did, and what he said would've made sense to very few people: "Twenty years."

"I know," I said in what I hoped was a gentle voice. I turned to look at him, studying his face. His cheeks were dry but his eyes were brightly glassy. He hadn't been crying, at least not just then, but he was on the edge of tears. I could see.

"She's been gone twenty years, Scully," he continued like he hadn't heard me, but knew that I was there at least.

"I came to make sure that you were okay," I said, putting my hand on his shoulder. He shied away, and I took my hand away, laying it in my lap.

"'mfine," he slurred defensively.

"Are you drunk?" I said suspiciously. He shook his head.

"Just a little tired," he said more clearly, smiling faintly. It looked so out of context on his paled face.

"Okay," I said, all business. I supposed that it was a hint, but I didn't want to leave him, not now. "Well, I just wanted to make sure you were alright. I think Skinner will understand if you take today off." I knew Mulder; I knew this would work. I was right.

"Stay." I let out my breath, and looked back at him. His face was sad, and the tears in his eyes had collected on his eyelashes. "Please."

I sank back down, closer to him this time. I put my whole arm around his shoulder, and he leaned into me, pressing his cheek into my shirt. "I thought so," I breathed into his hair, kissing his forehead. I realized suddenly that he had finally let his tears fall, and I wrapped my other arm around him, pulling him into a hug. I felt him crying into my arm, and not knowing what to do, I just sat there. I just sat there and held him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sometimes later, I noticed that he had stopped crying, and I pushed our bodies apart. His cheeks were streaked every-which-way with tears, but some color had leaked back into them and his eyes were dry and slowly returning to the light hazel that they were when he was in a better mood. Suddenly his cheeks deepened into scarlet zone and his eyes averted. He was embarrassed suddenly, I guessed.

"Feel better?" I asked, unable to control what I felt was a motherly instinct expressing itself in dialogue. He nodded, still blushing. I couldn't believe it; first he was crying, now he was blushing! I must say, he looked adorable during the latter.

"Okay. I'm gonna go back to work, and make sure that the FBI hasn't fallen apart in out absence. Are you gonna be okay?"

"Yeah," he said in a more normal tone, pushing his hands into his hair. "I'm fine. Thanks, Scully."

"Right. See you tomorrow." I gathered my coat, ready to leave.

"Scully?" I heard his voice behind me.

"Yeah?"

"Can you hang on a minute? Give me some time to put on some nicer pants?" I realized suddenly that he was in a wifebeater top and dirty, raggy jeans. "

You're coming to work?" I asked, surprised.

He shrugged. "Wouldn't want the FBI to fall apart on account of me, now would I?" he said with a boyish grin. He disappeared into the other room to get dressed, and I sank back onto the sofa, marveling over my Fox Mulder.

end

I hope y'all caught the "my" Fox Mulder reference, there. Sorry, I'm a shipper! Anyway, that was utterly plotless and cliché, but hey, I was bored!


End file.
